A vivid flush overspread Sylvie's face, as if she had been caught in the commission of some crime. Irene's laugh rang again with a peculiar irritating sound.
"I could not form a conspiracy against you—even if I so desired. And I must go."
Sylvie rose with a haughty air.
"Wish me worlds to conquer at least, or scalps to hang at my belt. No? You ungracious little thing! There is a good-by kiss to show you that I always hold out the right hand of peace."
"Have the carriage, Sylvie: it will not take a moment"—
"No, thank you," in a crisp tone. She would have nothing of these Lawrences just now.
"Fred will get a spicy wife," commented Irene, with a peculiar smile.
"She is never so with him. They get along beautifully," said the mother.
"Fred is too lazy to rouse Sylvie. Women have quite spoiled him. And Sylvie is ever so much prettier when a trifle vexed. Don't tell me about her angelic qualities, though I suppose she does keep super-amiable before you and Fred just now. I wonder if I could if I were in love!"
"Irene, I am sorry I hinted it. If you begin to tease Fred"—